


every night i ring you up like saturn

by diurno



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Attempt at Humor, Bickering, Boys Will Be Boys, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Frank Sinatra - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, I almost forgot, Inspired by Poetry, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan is Whipped, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mutual Pining, Neighbors, No Angst, Oh and Also, Poetry, Short & Sweet, Slow Dancing, Summer, Teen Crush, fast burn, god knows markhyuck needs a no angst fic, ig, is that a tag, kinda lmao its not that short, oh thats a tag, really domestic if u think about it, this REEKS of teenagerhood, youthful little minxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 17:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18945544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diurno/pseuds/diurno
Summary: Donghyuck would know. Every now and then, he catches himself wondering; what does Mark Lee smell like? How are his eyes from up close, his skin under his bedroom's broken lamp light? How would Mark Lee look on his messy sheets, trying to make his old Playstation work? How would Mark Lee look - if he were just one of the boys?or: His neighbor, Mark Lee, has a thing for staying in his windowsill watching the sun. Donghyuck has a thing for him.





	every night i ring you up like saturn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hyuckyang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyuckyang/gifts).



> hello!! this is for my lovely friend shéa who wrote me the sweetest, most loving fic. while reading her fic, i genuinely started crying, so i just wanted to return the favor! 
> 
> their dynamics are held so very dearly to my heart. i hope not only shéa, but also everyone, can enjoy them as much as i do!!

Mark Lee is ridiculously nice, Donghyuck would second. Ridiculously so. Too nice, too kind, had an open field smile you so rarely got to see on other faces. His fingers are long and stubby, nails clipped short and clean, skin tanned in that exact, specific, highly personal way that makes him look like a nicely baked pastry. His eyes are round and doe, black over black, surrounded by lashes that feel - and look - like threading plants, and his cheekbones are high, high, high. They go up to the sky, and stay there.

Donghyuck would know. Every now and then, he catches himself wondering; what does Mark Lee smell like? How are his eyes from up close, his skin under his bedroom's broken lamp light? How would Mark Lee look on his messy sheets, trying to make his old Playstation work? How would Mark Lee look - if he were just one of the boys?

Isn't he, though? Donghyuck never sees him with friends. He's just always in his windowsill, sitting under the lights, watering plants. Sometimes he'll do his homework, or play the guitar (although rather quietly, as if he were scared to wake up someone, even if they're usually the only ones home during the early evening), and when Donghyuck is lucky - truly, truly lucky - Mark Lee starts humming under his breath.

He's probably not the best singer. Donghyuck is no specialist, but he took choir classes in middle school, and Mark isn't even close to be on the top of his class. His voice is breathy, sometimes rough from naps, and still - still Donghyuck falls. For it, towards it, under it. He falls like it's a spell, and sometimes he asks himself if it is. Renjun would know, were Mark Lee a witch. Jaemin would feel it in his senses if Mark Lee was some sort of cupid. Hell, even Jeno would know if he were doing something bad.

But he's not. He's just a boy. He's just a teenager boy, probably a year or so older than them, that sits under the sun and hums to Billie Holiday.  

Today is one of those days he'll just sit quietly and stare at the way the light hits through his glass of water, wonder eyes watching the sun's every move. Donghyuck shamelessly stares from his own kitchen's window, a glass of soda pressed to his lips. They do that, he supposes - Mark Lee studies the sun, and Donghyuck tries to figure him out.

He's been caught staring before, but embarrassment quickly burned out between them. Now, Mark smiles at him when he finds him staring. Sometimes he'll raise an eyebrow, or make a funny face, and Donghyuck will laugh - loud, clear, thundering through the small space between their houses. Turns out Mark is a bit scared of loud noises, and sometimes he'll get startled by Donghyuck's manic laughter, hand flying dramatically to his orange shirt's collar. When he does that, the sun moves in a way that turns his eyes pure gold, and Donghyuck doesn't remember what he was laughing about anymore. The breathlessness stays, still.

Mark's lips are curved downwards noticeably today, his forehead frowned in deep, deep thought. Donghyuck doesn't know what a boy like them has to worry about that much, but he figures it's not his place to guess. The water reflects on his face on a thread of shiny rainbows, twirling high on Mark's cheekbones, making them look like little cupid wings. The type of cupid wings you'd die to ride high on, floating away in the clouds.

They're near the sunset now, sky peeling in warm shades of orange, pink, icy blue. Donghyuck reaches out from his window, lets the color of his skin contrast against the sky, carefully retreating when he deems it enough. It's a weird relationship he has, the sky. Donghyuck used to think it would swallow the whole world one day, in one huge cloud toothed bite. Now, he thinks it's not exactly that; it _won't_ swallow them. It'll be an embrace. It'll be peaceful, slow, then all at once, just how Mark downs his glass of water at the end of the day. The sky would one day swallow him, too.

Donghyuck sort of wishes they'd be together once it comes. Not together _together,_ but closer. Maybe their windows will be open wider by then. Or maybe he's just tenderly curious about Mark Lee's nature.

Which leads to the matter at hand: _what_ is Mark so worried about? Why are his eyes so blurry, cloudy, when he's supposed to be staring directly at the sun like he's not afraid of going blind, like he's not afraid of going up in flames?

One can only observe so much, he guesses. On a sunny day amidst of july, Donghyuck and Mark Lee said their first words to each other.

"What the fuck are you so worried about?" is what comes from Donghyuck's mouth, frowned lips mirroring Mark's. His windowsill is often dirty from fertilizer and paint, sometimes even sand, but today it's one piece clean. He stares at it, sort of accusingly, and Mark rolls his eyes, unphased.

"Don't curse," he answers mindlessly, stirring the water with his index finger. He's halfway lost in thought, and his voice is soft, easily getting mistaken by the rumble of the wind.

"I'm sorry," Donghyuck tries again, brows furrowing along now. He raises his voice, standing closer to the window so Mark could hear him. "What are you so worried about, Mark Lee?"

"How do you even know my name, Donghyuck?" the boy grunts at Donghyuck's persistence, resting his head on his elbow.

"It's in your backpack. I see you when you're leaving for school," he shrugs, loose black t-shirt slipping from his shoulder. It's the middle of summer, heat almost unbearable, and he's been away from school for longer than he ever has in the past months - it's magical. "How do you know mine?"

"Jeno Lee shouted at you while I was having gym class," Mark stretches his arms out, sun hitting his face carefully. He looks like a peaceful cat, graciously napping under the sun, and something within Donghyuck melts away. "And I'm not worried,"

"Yes, you are," the younger boy insists, eyes squinting as he puts his head out the window. The sun hits his nape softly now, almost sliding out of the sky, Mark Lee's eyes fixated on him. "No one frowns just because they feel like it, you know,"

"I don't see how this is any of your business, Donghyuck," his honey colored locks neighbor watches him with a glint in his eye that looks dangerously close to endearment. Mark has that way of looking at people - his eyes start to curl ever so slightly around the edges, face getting relaxed as if he has just seen a baby animal, and you're done for. No matter what or when or how; once he gives you that look, there's little one could do to stop the flooding of tenderness pulling them forward.

Donghyuck would know. He's been unironically spending time watching Mark Lee stare at the sun.

"It's gotta be somebody's business but yours," he argues. "Who are you going to tell? You need to share the burden, Mark Lee,"

"You've got some big life lessons, don't you?" Mark humors him slightly, lips slowly easing into a smile. Donghyuck wishes he could say his whole face lights up when he does that, but it's not quite like it is - Mark's face seems to gradually sink into happiness instead, like it's a conscientious act, building up on his features. "I'm fine, Donghyuck. No burden to share you could possibly take care of,"

"I doubt that," Donghyuck shakes his head in protest. Then he gives in: "But fine, Mark Lee. I'll have you know I'm great at misery management, but since you won't listen…" he trails off, taking another sip of warm soda. It's sour, leaves a scratch at the back of his throat, and Donghyuck feels young. So very young. "Hey, sunboy, did you know pigs can't look up at the sky?"

Mark chuckles ever so quietly in the evening breeze, the sound of it flying away like chiming bells. "No. I didn't know that."

"Yeah, it's sad," the younger hums back, plush lips stretching into a smile. Some people are bad at keeping conversation; Donghyuck is bad at knowing when to stop. "But, like, it would be so cool if someone tilted a pig up towards the stars and just… let it see them for the first time. Imagine how cool would that be - to see the stars and the sky for the first time,"

In reflex, Mark looks up at the sky, eyes squinting. His lips open involuntarily, tongue peaking out, and Donghyuck is sort of mesmerized. Only sort of, though. He couldn't risk having the sun know about his stupid little crush on Mark Lee.

The sun is a snitch. The moon doesn't care. The stars, though - they listen. If you speak quietly enough, if you crane your neck in the perfect angle and if the right cloud blows wind in your way, then they listen. And when they do it, life gets easier. The burden gets shared, sent away to space, heart knots loosening up. The stars _listen._

"Must be nice," Mark blows his words to the air, sounding deep in thought. "I wonder how the stars look to them,"

He snorts, leaning his elbows on the windowsill. "To pigs?"

"What's the problem with pigs?!" the older gasps offendedly, eyebrows immediately going down along with the corner of his lips.

"I don't know," Donghyuck shakes his head under the evening sun. "I'm just saying stuff to keep the conversation going,"

Mark's reactions are always a bit slower than most people's - Donghyuck wonders if it's ADHD, but quickly dismisses it as not his business to take care of. The older boy's face unravels in softness again, features clearing out, and Donghyuck wants to crane his neck all the way out and smash their foreheads together. It's a weird feeling, he admits; he wants to feel Mark's face on his, at the same time he wants to annoy him.

"Sometimes you just say stuff, don't you, Donghyuck?" his lips pout around the words, dashes of blue and purple taking over the sunset as night washes down over them.

Night, night. Donghyuck's greatest companion.

"Hell yeah I do," he grins back, feeling ridiculously young. It's a recurring feeling - he catches himself being silly, or doing something completely random for the fun of it, and suddenly feels young. So, so young; the type of youth you could only feel deep in your belly, rumbling through you, urging you to _run, boy, run._ Deep within him, he wonders if Mark Lee feels that way sometimes, too. "And I have every right to do so. Life in only planned ahead words would be so boring. Who would your smart pants laugh at, if I thought before I spoke?"

"I never laugh at you," the boy chirps back tiredly, darkness of the night making his features look terribly human.

Well, he _is_ human. But sometimes Donghyuck forgets people are just people, and the night makes him remember how, in the end, everyone gets tired. Everyone has messy hair and worn down clothes and late night shivers from fears they can't defend, even Mark Lee. Even him.

It also doesn't help that his eyes get incredibly softer with the deep blue. It swallows him up, honestly - around his lashes, on his cheekbones, seeping through his teeth. The sky looks like the sea when it's night, like Donghyuck couldn't tell how close it is because Mark Lee reflects everything around them, like reaching your hand out and not knowing whether it'll sink or rise. The whole world gets smaller, then. In the quiet summer downing, it's easy to forget the sky is up above. It's easy to believe it's as close to them as the ocean.

"I hope you don't," Donghyuck smiles widely, brows raising up. He knows he looks mischievous; but he can't help it. His thoughts shine through his face. "But maybe you do. I don't know a lot about you, Mark Lee. I just know that you're not a pig,"

"How so?" Mark asks curiously, looking directly through Donghyuck like he might be expecting someone - or something - to come up behind him.

But nothing, and no one, will. He's as alone as it gets. "Well," he starts, grin widening. "You sure can look up at the sky. You do it everyday."

"You talk a lot, Donghyuck," comes his answer, thrown out of lips under fluttering lashes. Mark tries, he _really_ tries to be witty - but he's far too nice. His face announces his fondness, his smile goes up like the Eiffel tower, the stars are out and love is real.

Love is real. And Donghyuck is a huge loser.

"Yes, I do. And what are you going to do about it?" he states cheekily.

Mark's smile goes up and up, contrary to his words, and something in Donghyuck's chest is knocked over. Somewhere in his heart, a window is left open.

"I'm going to take a nap," Mark tells him, hands running through messy honey locks gently. His fingers tangle on a knot, and he awkwardly retreats them, choosing to wave Donghyuck goodbye hesitantly. "See you… Tomorrow?"

Donghyuck's smile gets even wider. "Goodnight, Mark Lee."

As he closed the curtains, he felt the familiar tingling in his throat. The soft stutter, the grazing of hands, the insistent drumming of fingers over his chest. And he asked to himself - _what am I going to do with love like this?_

  
  
  
  


"Hey, Mark?" he calls from the windowsill. They've been doing that for a while now - talking until the sun sets, window to window, their voices scratching the walls between them. Donghyuck is used to calling Mark's name; sometimes he doesn't answer right away, but he's always there.

Summer break is harsh on them. The sun is everywhere and at every hour, even when Donghyuck wakes up at two in the afternoon craving for waffles, and there's really nothing to do worth his time. If he's not talking to Mark Lee, then he's reading, and if he's not doing any of these then it probably means he's sitting around staring at the walls. Sometimes Donghyuck gets in the backyard and just sits there, under the sun, but those times hardly happen when he doesn't feel like he needs a break from doing nothing.

"What?" he hears Mark yell from his bedroom, the lights on despite him not being visible in his window. Donghyuck can almost imagine; his feet up on the table, fan hitting his hair, eyebrows furrowed as he studies.

Mark is probably the only person in the world that studies when they're in break. It's honorable, Donghyuck thinks, but also completely unnecessary. He knows some people study for fun, or because they genuinely care, but he can't possibly fathom how that must feel. Donghyuck gets by on exams with logic, never once picking up a book.

"You should let me come over," the younger screams back, one leg already out of the window as he hoists himself up and lands on the ground after, walking a few steps until he reaches Mark's bedroom window. It's open - it always is.

Mark's room is small. The dark blue walls close him in with piled up clothes and posters, various types of electronics up in different places. Mark's phone, on his bed. His kindle, over the printer. His speaker, sitting pretty next to his books. Said speaker is softly humming to Frank Sinatra as the boy studies, his fingers spinning a yellow pencil clumsily. It's all blue, in Mark's room. The walls, the sheets, his jeans pile, the aquarium, hell, even his notebooks. Everything feels timeless, untouched, and Donghyuck feels an overwhelming press of fondness; of familiarity.

"You invite yourself over," Mark turns around in his rotating chair, typical smile plastered on his face. His stupid face, with his stupid cheeks that go up and his stupid eyes that curl like the ferris wheel Donghyuck used to go to when he was a child. His hair is combed neatly, pushed back in a classy style, and Donghyuck _hates_ him. He hates especially how he looks like a Frank Sinatra love song. "Hi, Hyuckie,"

 _Hyuckie._ It's so easy for him. So easy. He just says things now, and Donghyuck has to deal with the intense heartache that comes from them. That comes from just looking at him, at the curve of his hair and at the collar of his shirt.

"Whatcha doin'?" he smiles back anyways, snaking around to lay on Mark's bed, limbs spread open like a starfish.

"I'd say studying, but you know I was daydreaming," the older taps his own chin, staring at the blue speaker on his desk. It's a metallic blue, small and round. Sometimes it'll start making weird noises, and Mark has to reboot it.

"About what?" Donghyuck asks loudly enough for it to be obnoxious, but the boy doesn't seem to mind.

"I don't know," he shrugs, avoiding Donghyuck's gaze by spinning around. Then, on an afterthought, he asks: "Have you ever slow danced?"

"Uh," the younger stammers, snatching a hand between his dark brown locks. "No?"

"Yeah, me neither," Mark looks vandalized at his next words, shocked by his own boldness. "Yet I keep having this dream, of us slow dancing. To Frank Sinatra. I don't even - I didn't even have a Frank Sinatra record, and I went out to buy one today. I've been listening to it nonstop ever since."

"Oh," Donghyuck blinks, lips falling open involuntarily. Stupid Mark Lee. So, so stupid. "Oh."

"Yeah," the older plays it off in nonchalance, as if he hadn't just said he's been having a recurrent dream of slow dancing to love songs with Donghyuck. As if he hadn't just dropped _that._ Stupid.

"Which song?" he questions, kneeling on Mark's bed with arched brows. That way, he feels like he's performing; like his actions are over exaggerated and dramatic for the sake of watching Mark Lee's face burn red slowly, looking up to Donghyuck with a defying glint. So stupid.

"Girl Next Door," Mark whispers, the words seemingly taken from his lips. He creates distance between them, as if Donghyuck is dripping poison, and God, how he wants to. How he wants Mark Lee to choke on it, to kiss him like he's not afraid of swallowing venom. Genuinely stupid.

Donghyuck is stupider. "Let's do it," he grabs Mark's wrist from his bed, stretched out to lean his hands on the older boy's knees as his own support Donghyuck in the bed. They're so close. Face to face. "Let's slow dance,"

There's a thing, though. Donghyuck doesn't know soft, doesn't know chic, doesn't know elegant - when the words leave his lips, they sound like a demand, and suddenly the weight of his own existence crushes him a little bit. With his face so close to Mark's, he feels very much like a teenage boy with a crush on his neighbor, and that makes him small. Stupidly small.

For a second, he's afraid Mark won't get him. But of course he will. He always does.

"Yes," he answers immediately, almost challenging Donghyuck to back down.  He sounds breathless, afraid the other boy would run or lean back and laugh like it's a joke, and Donghyuck understands that. Mark grabs the hem of Donghyuck's shirt, fisting it between his fingers harshly, and they just stare at each other for a second, cheeks flushed, limbs tense.

It's young ambition - desperate, aggressive, hard, capable of moving mountains and creating the waves on the sea. So much potential, so little experience in love. So much Donghyuck could've done, but instead he let out an unintelligible sound, dangerously close to a gasp.

He's terrible at flirting, he thinks so as Mark reaches out from behind him and shuffles the songs in his speaker, until The Girl Next Door comes on a few songs later. Mark's eyes get impossibly rounder, softly melting against Donghyuck's face, and he takes one of the hands in his knees, interlacing their fingers. _Yes. Yes. Yes._

 _Yes._ One green card, two summer signs, twin brown eyes.

"Will you dance with me?" Donghyuck teases, voice smooth around the edges. "Or will you just hold my hand and stare at me like I might jump you if you get too close?"

"Who knows," Mark whispers back, mesmerized. "Maybe you will," he plays with Donghyuck's fingers ever so gently, tracing the outline of his nails, looking like a deer caught up in headlines. It's easy to feel in control with Mark - he's always a breeze of a person.

Mark has the type of breath that sounds like the galloping of a baby lamb. Like purity, like sunlight when it hits through a window, like the smell of a bible and the canopy of darkness when it's late and his house is completely silent. A lot of things about him go unspoken, and a lot of other things are passed down by whispering mouths, barely making out alive. His fingers feel like ripe peaches against Donghyuck's, as if he could squeeze them and feel nature under his palm; Mark, in general, is just so softly alive.

Donghyuck leads him through the song, avoiding knocking the speaker out of his table as he tries to sway Mark's hesitant figure around his tight room, their breaths shared between them as they cling to each other for good measure of space. It's hot, and Donghyuck's hair is probably due to wash, but Mark holds him desperately close, hooks a finger under his baggy shirt and listens. _Listens._

"One, two, three," he counts their steps, barely paying attention to Frank Sinatra's voice. Donghyuck couldn't care less - he could listen to the song later, he could gush over the lyrics on another time. What matters is Mark Lee's sweaty palms on his, clumsily missing step by step. "You can't dance," Donghyuck chuckles to Mark's face, soft as the grazing of a snake on the ground.

"Neither can you," the older bites back. "None of us do. We're stupid."

They're stupid. So stupid. Donghyuck leans his head on his chest, quietly hushing Mark to be quiet, and just… Stays there. Because they are stupid, indeed. And Mark is one of those few moments in life when you feel things are building up to be okay. That one fraction of moment before normality hits where you're hyper aware of the happiness inside of you and the satisfaction of being alive. He is, simply put, one of the rare things in the world worth of holding on to.

So Donghyuck does. He holds on to him. Sways him side to side as the songs switch and shuffle, and he's truly happy. Not the sparkling happiness, not the manic euphoria, just happy. Content, full to the brim with drowsiness, the type of happy you can only get when times align.

Mark quietly asks him to stay. And Donghyuck does.

  
  
  


That night, when he's about to leave for his own house, Mark asks him in the silence of the night, wrapped up in the covers of his own bed:

"Will you bring me a glass of water?" he asks, voice small, rough.

Donghyuck does so, making his way to the kitchen and filling up a glass of water. Mark's parents are never around; he's become too afraid to ask about them. He knows some kids just grow like that, alone, but he wonders if Mark ever gets too dependent on things. If he ever holds on to someone's company with teeth and nails because he knows what it feels like to be alone.

When he gets back to his room, he hands the glass to the older boy, sitting in the end of the bed with a stretched arm and the cup of water on his hand.

Mark doesn't take it from him. Instead, he asks again: "Do you remember when you were a little boy, and you asked your mother for a glass of water?"

"Yes?" Donghyuck blinks in confusion, leaning back on one of his hands.

"Do you remember how, sometimes, you weren't even that thirsty?" he keeps asking, relentless. The younger nods, confusion easily seeping in. "You just wanted that hand that was attached to that glass that was attached to that person you just wanted to stay there until you fell asleep."

Wordlessly, Mark takes the cup from his hands, and quietly places it on the drawer beside his bed. Without taking a single sip of it, maintaining eye contact with Donghyuck as if his eyes could say much more than his lips. As if they were trying to pull him in just as much as they were tempted to push him away.

And Donghyuck, a fool the way he is, again thought to himself: _What am I going to do with love like this?_

  
  
  


"Would you ever kiss me, Mark Lee?" Donghyuck asks in the morning, tangled in Mark's blue sheets while the sun hunches over them, arms locked tight together.

"Everywhere," Mark grunts back, eyes closed shut, his long sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows because of the summer heat. Donghyuck tries to create a bit of space between them, pushing the older away ever so slightly, but Mark doesn't allow him.

"Everywhere?" he chuckles. "Even in Michigan?"

"Mhmm," the older agrees easily, burying his nose in Donghyuck's shoulder. His face is puffy like a pastry, under the sun, and it's quite the type of adoring you could only feel in moments like these. For a split second, the world feels like it's blurring down its edges.

Mark Lee is ridiculously soft. Donghyuck would let him use his ribcage as a knife, would let him bare his chest open and use his heart like a voodoo doll.

"Even in Moscow? Vienna? Rio de Janeiro?" he keeps asking, punctuating every city with a jab to Mark's stomach. "Even in McDonald's? Starbucks? Applebees? _Would you kiss me on a 7/11 parking lot?"_

"Yes," the boy yawns, merely giving Donghyuck his attention as he cuddles his comforter.

 

_Everywhere, everywhere._

 

_Even Rio._

 

**Author's Note:**

> whew. there it went
> 
> the glass of water scene is inspired by the poem "one night", wrote by dito montiel on 'a guide to recognizing your saints'. you go read it! 
> 
>  [twt](https://www.twitter.com/eboyjen)


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